


When You Need, Lay By Me

by pastelaliens



Category: Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, Mo Dao Zu Shi, 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Mild Smut, M/M, post canon but no spoilers only wangxian in love, wangxian is snowed in and they have to keep each other warm ;)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-24 06:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17699699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelaliens/pseuds/pastelaliens
Summary: Lan Wangji may have once been compared to this blizzard, cold and unforgiving and immovable, but he is less so now; Wei Wuxian has thawed him to milder autumn and doesn’t he deserve to thrive in something warmer, something that won’t leave him shuddering, after all the wrongs he’d endured in his first life? Lan Wangji would give him better. His seasons change in reverse; he strives for summer and for Wei Wuxian’s face flushed with the heat of it, his skin dewed.





	When You Need, Lay By Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mornelithe_falconsbane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mornelithe_falconsbane/gifts).



Lan Wangji may have once been compared to this blizzard, cold and unforgiving and immovable, but he is less so now; Wei Wuxian has thawed him to milder autumn and doesn’t he deserve to thrive in something warmer, something that won’t leave him shuddering, after all the wrongs he’d endured in his first life? Lan Wangji would give him better. His seasons change in reverse; he strives for summer and for Wei Wuxian’s face flushed with the heat of it, his skin dewed.

But whatever warmth in love Lan Wangji offers, it cannot face this weather head-on. The snowfall had come quickly, obscuring the world with flakes heavy, wet, settling. They’re lucky in their search for shelter; they find a house, if it can be called that with its four walls and single room, abandoned and leaning but closed to the cold. The windows have their shutters and the door its latch and so they have a place for their shivering bodies and lips turned pale.

So small and enclosed a space will not allow for fire or the heat offered by its flames. Against his back Lan Wangji feels the press of a body, the fine tremble in it, and then the slow journey of frozen hands from his hips to navel. Wei Wuxian’s fingers clasp, interlocking icicles, and his cheek presses against the jut of Lan Wangji’s shoulder blade. He doesn’t twist in the encircling arms but stays almost still, moving just enough to slide his own hands— larger than Wei Wuxian’s, now, when once they’d been of a size— over those joined at his middle. How he knows every ridge of every knuckle, now. He's mapped them with the touch of fingertips and with lips moving in silent prayer.

A voice in the low light, in the gentle glow of the distant sun’s rays filtered and filtered once more before touching the blanket of snow outside and creeping in through the gaps in the aged walls: “Lan Zhan,” comes his name as he’s heard it time and time again from that tongue, a whine rounding the syllables of it. “Won’t you keep me warm?”

That very voice calls him to action, spins him in the circle of Wei Wuxian’s arms. It’s easy to hold him in turn, as if Lan Wangji’s own embrace was always waiting to be filled by him— and perhaps only in this moment, when his body is smaller, though his face looks more and more like him every day. Sometimes Lan Wangji gets lost in the way Wei Wuxian’s features change, the sudden absence of a curve in his cheek, an upward turn at the corners of his eyes, familiar sharpness in the angles of his nose. 

It’s always this that guides his meandering thoughts back: Wei Wuxian smiles bright as sunshine and _that_ is something that neither death nor circumstance could change in him. “How can I be cold when you look at me like that?” he says quietly, leaning heavily into Lan Wangji. A long mantle, fur-lined and in the white and blue of his clan, is pulled from his own shoulders and placed onto Wei Wuxian’s— but even the warmth provided from that, it seems, isn’t enough; Wei Wuxian remains where he is, pressed close, face upturned.

It’s an invitation for his fingers, chilled and pale as snow. They find the line of Wei Wuxian’s jaw and trace it, the path familiar to them now as Lan Wangji would have never before guessed— nor even hoped— they could be. Wei Wuxian speaks again, always filling the silence Lan Wangji leaves in his wake. “What do you see, Hanguang-Jun?” he prompts, teasing, leaning closer still into the infinitesimal space still between their two bodies.

A fingertip sinks into the corner of that smile, pressing. “This,” is his measured reply. “It is the same. I would have recognized it on the mountain had you not already given yourself away.”

Yet more teasing: “Did you pay such close attention to my smile back then?” 

Lan Wangji’s gaze slides away, an admission of guilt even before he can answer— but when he does it is direct and it is honest. “Yes.”

That smile fades and Wei Wuxian’s eyes go wide, color rising in his cheeks. It’s against that sweet pink Lan Wangji rests his hand now, gentle, reverent. “You’re warm,” he says, voice low. The cold wasn’t banished by the method Wei Wuxian had wanted, perhaps, but the task is still done. Lan Wangji watches that same realization arrive in the expression underneath his touch, a pout twisting at Wei Wuxian’s mouth.

But the pout passes by like clouds over the sun, only now when his grin reappears it’s edged, dangerous. In it is intent that Lan Wangji braces himself for. “But Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian begins. His hands fall to wandering up Lan Wangji’s chest, fingertips slipping into the folds of his robes, seeking and seeking until finding bare skin just beneath the column of his throat. “You’re cold, too. We have to do something about that.”

The pulse beneath Wei Wuxian’s touch quickens. “I wonder what you’re thinking,” he continues. Singsong are his words, prettier than any refrain Lan Wangji has heard or played himself. He would rather taste the melody of them than hear. “Could someone so pure be having indecent thoughts?”

“Wei Ying—” Lan Wangji’s hand flies to Wei Wuxian’s wrist, grip loose around it; those fingers had been dragging up over his throat, tilting his head back, baring him to another's mercy. When his chin lowers again and his gaze goes back to Wei Wuxian’s face, his breath catches, stopping the rest of his words— whether consent or protest— in their tracks. A vision of beauty as he’s never before seen: Wei Wuxian standing in snow-filtered light and wrapped in the colors of the Lan Clan, eyes half-lidded and lips deliberately parted and wetted. Here is his every fantasy offering itself to him.

Lan Wangji leans forward, meaning to take that tempting mouth with his own, but Wei Wuxian in the same moment, as if guessing what Lan Wangji would do, dances just out of reach, his wrist slipping out of Lan Wangji’s grip— but his touch isn’t absent long, fingers fitting between Lan Wangji’s and pulling him gently to the middle of the room where the floor is clearest. “Lay with me,” he invites. “The sun is setting.” And so it is, the color of it muted by the snowfall and made softer, pastel.

They lay on the floor and it is the cold, at first, that moves them closer to one another. Wei Wuxian throws the mantle over them both before his limbs wind around Lan Wangji, their legs tangled. Lan Wangji himself is not idle; he reaches for that smaller body, wraps his arms tight around it, pulls Wei Wuxian to his chest where he’ll keep warmest. And it’s like this, Lan Wangji thinks, they’ll spend the night, waking with the first sign of dawn and digging themselves out of the snow. He is content in it, as he always is when Wei Wuxian is near.

But there will be no rest, not yet. Gentle as a snowflake comes the first kiss to the length of Lan Wangji’s neck, so soft that it melts away in not a moment. Under that, he doesn’t stir. The next kiss is less gentle but still a whisper of a thing, not enough to coax him to moving. The next lingers and, finally, from Lan Wangji escapes a small sigh. In the last press of his lips, in which Lan Wangji imagines he can feel a smile, Wei Wuxian lets his tongue slip, allows himself a taste— and that’s when, suddenly, Lan Wangji shifts so that their foreheads touch and their eyes meet.

A gasp is cut off, trapped behind the sinking of Wei Wuxian’s teeth into his own bottom lip. Lan Wangji glances down, interested in the way the flesh dimples. “Lan Zhan” Wei Wuxian whispers, and still there’s that teasing in his words— made less convincing by the way his voice trembles. Not from the cold, this time. “Have you warmed up yet?” With the slightest tilt of his chin, Wei Wuxian brings his mouth close enough that Lan Wangji would barely have to breathe toward him to touch. “Or do you need more?”

Breathe he does, into that waiting mouth, and against it is his answer, short and raw: “More.”

Their kiss is like the snowfall, sudden and heavy, but in it no chill of winter can survive, banished by the searing heat of it. Lan Wangji finds with his teeth the place where Wei Wuxian’s had pressed and the spot is still tender, offered sweetly to him; when he bears down and pulls he takes with that bottom lip a noise dragged from Wei Wuxian’s throat. _More_.

He’s pushed onto his back and Wei Wuxian follows after his mouth, never leaving the kiss for too long. Lan Wangji lifts his hand, catches the tie holding back Wei Wuxian’s hair with one crooked fingers, pulls it loose so that hair can fall around their two faces like a curtain and he can let his hand disappear into its softness. Wei Wuxian’s hand has more intimate intent, slipping beneath the cloth covering them both, dragging down and down until he finds just where Lan Wangji has stirred, where he burns hottest. Fingertips press to learn the lay of him and he lifts his hips toward the touch, inviting their exploration. _More_.

Their skin is never once revealed to the cold air, only to a waiting palm or the tight heat of an eager mouth. They need no fire because they are their own, each pleading call of a name and moan pulled tight and gasped warning fuel to it. It reaches higher and higher and when Lan Wangji looks up, his gaze is captured by a bead of sweat in a slow crawl down the long, stretched expanse of Wei Wuxian's neck. Snow pressing in on them from all sides and here is the summertime Lan Wangji wishes for Wei Wuxian. Here, by his hand and by his lips. Here, by the press of their two bodies, the friction of them ever moving closer and closer and closer again. "Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian whispers. Lan Wangji rises like the sun from between his thighs and chases his own name, shaken free of ice and given the balm of summer breeze, so he can answer as he always does and always will.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!! if you wanna cry abt wangxian find me on twit @paybackisawitch :D


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